The Pain I Feel Is Only Temporary
by rawrful
Summary: [PreRENT]Ch. 4 Up! Mark and April have a conversation about her reasons for going to the hospital and her relationship with Roger. A young Mimi is introduced.
1. Even if there is no love

Wow, I never ever believed I would be doing something like this. I've always been a huge fanfiction reader, but I never thought I would actually write something. Well, this should be a new experience. I hope you all enjoy it. I don't know how fast I'll be able to dish out new chapters, because when I wrote this I never had it with RENT in mind, but it felt so much like it I had to do it. So, a lot of things will have to be revised and changed in the story. However, I shall try my hardest to get them out, because I know how un-fun it is to wait for a new chapter. Well, here we go.

**Title:** Undecided at the moment.  
**Pairing:** Mark/Maureen Roger/April  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** This takes place before RENT and even before April dies. Mark is moving out, tired of Roger using. Mark comes back for his things and..well you'll just have to read what happens. There's a slight hint of slash and if I do have this turn into such it will be in a flashback or way in the future.

**Chapter 1: Even if there's no love.**

I can't stop. I don't know if it's because I'm so tired of trying, I've given up, or I'm just happier this way.

I slowly rest my head against the cool bathroom wall and slide down to sit on the hard tiled floor. I look up and stare at the continually blinking light above the cracked mirror. The lighting envelops the small room in a putrid yellow color. I think it's about to die out any minute. I reach behind me and push myself up off the decaying wall. The paint has been chipping and peeling for the past two years. You can't tell the original color anymore. I don't think I even remember. It's a dirty yellowish brown color now, similar to old newspaper. I think that in a past life it might have been blue or green. I stand up and shrug, then remember that there's no one here to see me do it. It feels foreign to have the loft so empty.

I lay my hands on top of the sink, slowly tracing around the edges with my fingertips. I begin to stare at myself in the mirror, but quickly look away. The face I see, I cannot recognize. Pale and cold. The eyes bloodshot.

I stare down at my hands, needing something to keep me away from looking at what I have become. I turn them around to look at my palms. I flip them again and start rubbing my left arm. A sharp pain in my side distracts me. It feels like weeks since I've had my last hit. I stare down at my old track marks. Some I've used so many times they haven't healed over yet. They're just empty holes in my flesh. Holes that remind me of what a failure I am. I begin to rub my arm self-consciously.

I gradually step out of the bathroom, once the light blows. As I head towards my room I notice a picture on the wall besides my door. I don't remember it being there. I suppose that's something to do with the drugs. My memory isn't as good as it used to be. The boy in the photograph stares back at me. His nearly toothless smile seems foreign, yet familiar at the same time. I slowly realize that it's me. Me. The old me. The me, when I was only six years old and everything in the world was perfect. My parents were still together. I still lived in fucking Ohio, where everyone was accepting of others, my pets were always running off to farms and my friends really did want to hangout, but couldn't because they were always grounded. I remember feeling happy then. Somehow. God, am I happy now?

I shake my head, answering my own question. I'm not happy. I'm starting to believe it may be impossible for a heroin addict to be happy.

I remember back to the first time I shot up in Ryan's apartment. His apartment that was filled with the stench of cigarette smoke and piss. The sick green light, which hung from the middle of the ceiling. His cigarette burned amber couch. The coffee table, to think he actually had a coffee table, that had so many nicks in it actually looked like some sort of a abstract carving. I remember that table. A table littered with syringes and empty little baggies, except for the one, almost unnoticeable. Filled with a strange substance.

The word heroin flashes into my mind. The reason why I have no real reason to survive. Fuck, heroin. God, fuck everything. I wish I could just forget. But I can't.  
Staring at the picture of a younger me, I pull it off the wall. My fingertips run along the glass cover. A small sigh escapes my lips as I heave the picture to the floor. The glass cracks and shatters. A broken picture for a now broken life.

I stare down at the picture and kick it off to the side. I don't want to remember.

I reach for the doorknob to my room, but stop when I hear a knock at the front door. I'm not all to sure if I want to answer it. However I'm afraid that if I don't answer they'll keep knocking.

I slowly tread over to the door, but am greeted by it already being opened. I dart my head around trying to locate the intruder.

"Hey!" I shout. I attempt to sound fierce, but it's comes out rather pathetic.

"Hey, yourself."

I instantly recognize the voice. It's Mark. I turn around and spot him. He's bundled in the old coat we had once found on the street. It's got a large rip in the side, feathers sticking out. A white and blue scarf is wrapped around his neck and he has a small brown hat that barely covers his now shaggy blond hair. He's not carrying his camera, something that surprises me. I stare at him, waiting for him to explain why he's here. Why he has come back. I think he gets the idea.

I watch as he walks into his old room and grabs a cardboard box labeled 'shit'. He points at it.

"I'm just here to get the rest of my stuff."

"Oh." I say; trying to not sound disappointed. I walk over to our kitchen table. I mentally sigh when I realize it is no longer ours. Nothing is 'ours' anymore. I reluctantly climb on and swing my feet back and forth as I hear him start collecting his things. I watch them move back and forth almost mesmerized. I really need to shoot up, but I can't bring myself to do it in front of him. I suppose I lose track of time, because when I look up I see Mark staring down at me.

"Yeah...?" It comes out only above a whisper.

He takes off his hat and starts to fiddle with it. Then climbs up on the table and sits beside me. He turns his head slowly towards me, while pushing his glass up off his nose. I'm given a look I'm used to. I know what he wants, so I turn my head, hoping he'll get the idea and leave. I glare at the wall. Angry, that he had to come back.

"What happened to the picture?" The words barely escape his lips.

"Nothing." I refuse to look at him. I can't bring myself to do it. I'm afraid if I look at him I'll hit him.

He slowly puts his hand on my shoulder. I regretfully look over at him, and then at his hand. A strange emotion slowly comes to me. I look into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to hold him again, like before. To love him, but I remember that that couldn't ever happen. He can't love me. He loves her.

"Rog, I know you're tired of hearing me tell you this, but I really think you should get some help." He frowns.

"Just leave me..." I clench my fists.

"No, listen to me. Please." He runs a hand through his hair. A nervous gesture.

However, I really don't care how he feels at the moment. He wouldn't care how I would feel. He didn't care how I felt, when he decided to leave. When he told me he couldn't be with me. When he told me he was leaving.

I quickly jump off the table. I feel his eyes following me as I walk to my room, slamming the door behind me. I can hear him walking towards it. I rest my body against the door. I'm tired of my own hostility.

"I really don't know why April, or anyone for that matter, even fucking puts up with you."

I stare down at the ground, feeling ashamed.

I hear him let out a sigh and start to walk off. I crack open my door, just so I can see what he's doing. He is almost unable to pick up the box, filled with his things. I watch as he turns around and heads for the door. He stops in front of it.

"I guess I'll see you later." He says. The sound of defeat is apparent in his voice.

"Fuck you!" I yell loud enough for him to hear. At that moment I wish he would feel the same pain that is coursing through my veins. I wish everyone would. He slams the door as he leaves the apartment.

I sigh. I really need a hit, now. I've been waiting for too long. I walk over towards my old wooden dresser and open the sock drawer. I'm starting to wonder if everyone keeps their secrets in their sock drawers. As I'm grabbing my things I spot a picture of me and April. I'm starting to wonder where all of these pictures are coming from.

On the rare occasions that I leave the loft, I usually end up at her apartment. Half the time I'm so out of it, I can barely make an understandable sentence, but she'll just blow it off. Well, she used to. Now, she hardly speaks to me. She's stopped waiting up for me to come. I don't know if it's because she's just tired of me showing up at all hours of the night, or she's gone out herself. Where to? I have no idea. I guess I could say I've lost interest. Maybe it would be easier on both of us to just end it. No, I couldn't do that to her. Somehow she's still with me - flaws and all. I don't think that's something I should give up so easily. I like the security, even if there's no love. She's all I have left.

I place my needle on the bed and start to prepare myself. As much as I hate doing this, being unable to control these urges, the pleasure I'm know I'm going to receive makes it slightly worth the current disgust.

I'm abruptly halted from my actions when I hear the phone ringing in the other room. I, however, decide it's best to screen my calls. I'm not in the mood to converse with anyone. The answering machine comes on. The answering machine that's not mine. The answering machine that he forgot.

"Speak" Our voices colliding together.

"Roger? Roger, are you there? Are you screening your calls? Pick up, if you're there honey. Roger?"

It's my mother. I'm tempted to answer, but I don't know if I want to listen to her endless series of questions on how I'm doing. I hate lying to her. She doesn't know about the drugs. The fact that I've been using for over 2 years. I doubt if I told her now, she'd even believe it.

She's got me all wrapped up in this neat little package. Pretending I know no evil. I hate the thought of her having to think of me as anything else.

I can't believe it. I actually move, set my things down and walk out of the room.

I can't help it. I pick up.

"..fine Rog"

"Mom!" I attempt to act like I'm excited to talk to her.

"Oh! Roger! Where were you, sweetie?"

Her voice is extra chipper this morning. A little more than I think I can take.

"I was in the shower mom. Sorry, it took so long to pick up."

"It's OK, baby. I understand." I resent the fact that I know she would forgive me no matter what.

"Yeah...mom." We've only been talking for thirty seconds and I'm already uncomfortable.

"How have you been, honey? What's going on in your life? We haven't spoken in almost 2 months? How are things with April? Ready to put a ring on her finger?"

"Uh,"

I want to confess my sins to her. At that moment all I want to do is tell her that I'm an addict. That I need her help. I need anyone's help. That I'm just so lost. That I don't know what to do anymore. But I don't.

"Uh, well I've been good mom. I've been job hunting lately. You know, gotta pay the bills somehow. Mark moved out about a few days ago, so I'm sorta on my own."

She asks me why. It catches me off guard.

"Why?" I manage to squeak out.

I have to think fast. I can't let her know that he left because he was tired of my using. Tired of telling me that I was hurting not only myself, but also everyone around me. Tired of me coming home at four in the morning, stumbling over the old milk crates filled with useless papers and empty beer cans. Yelling at the top of my lungs about nothing in particular.

Mark just loved treating me like a baby and me, being a stubborn 22-year-old, couldn't stand it. So, I'd find more ways to just piss him off.

He had ambition though, something most people I know lacked. I think that's what drew me to him to talk to him in the first place. I remember him telling me he wanted to be a famous director on the first day we met, he had the ability, but I held him back. He wanted to help me get better. I loved him for it.

"Roger? Are you still there?" My thoughts are interrupted by my mother's voice.

"Uh, yeah mom. Mark left because he found a better place. He wanted to, you know, make something out of himself." I let out a nervous laugh.

"What about you and April?" This seems to be a favorite subject of hers lately.

"We've been good, mom." I roll my eyes.

"Write any new songs?"

I'm starting to regret answering the phone. I'm getting tired of her questions. And she wonders why I never call.

"Uh, mom, I uh, have to go now. Sorry. April will be here any minute and I'm taking her out to breakfast."

"OK, sweetie. Love you."

"Yeah, love you, too."

I'm tired of lying to everyone.

I hang up the phone and head for my room.

I need a hit.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
**  
**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Any reviews/suggestions are greatly appreciated!


	2. He atleast tried

Here's the next chapter guys. Hope you enjoy.

**Title:** Undecided at the moment.  
**Pairing:** The same as before.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** This chapter is told in Mark's point of view. It begins when Mark exits the loft after his fight with Roger. He is on his way to move in with Benny, for the time being, and on the way has a few flashbacks of a certain incident with Roger.  
I suck at summaries. Sorry.  
**Disclaimer:** I forgot about this with my first post. I own nothing. There, I feel better now.

**Chapter 2: He atleast tried**

"So, things hadn't gone as well as I had hoped." I say aloud to no one in particular, as my body rests uncomfortably against the outside of the loft door. My feeble attempt at trying to listen to Roger's voice. His rushed tone followed by a sarcastic remark. A loud sigh. I can tell he wants to stop talking. Who ever it is keeping him on the phone longer than he would prefer to be.

I stare around at my surroundings, trying to retain this all. I wish I had my camera right now to capture the moment. The dark copper colored walls that are only made darker, due to the lack of light in the building. The hard, cracked cement floor. The lonely figure resting outside his once best friend's door. I'm surprised I'm actually going to miss this place, but what surprises me more is that I'm going to miss him.

It's his own fault, though. Atleast that's what I've been telling myself for the past week. It's nice to have something to soothe my conscience. Although, having just seen him and how he's behaving, it doesn't seem to be working at the moment.

The box starts to fall; I quickly grab it pushing it up to my waist. It's remarkably heavy and I wonder how I had come to have so many belongings. I honestly don't recall half of the things that I had put in here. Old books on film, a few scraps of clothing, my old camera.

My old camera. I stare down at it, inspecting the dust covered broken lens. The edge briefly reflects the light from the hallway.

_"Roger, you don't know what you're talking about."_

I watch as he paces the floor, walking briskly, fists clenched. I lean back against the kitchen table and push myself on to it with my palms. Staring down towards my camera, I contemplate filming this moment. I slowly pick it up and graze the lens with my fingertips. The soft, smooth glass fills me with an odd sense of serenity. I sigh as I turn the camera on and face it towards Roger. He's unaware of my filming and continues to speak into the air.

Following his movements, I make sure to capture every second on film. I follow his feet as they pivot on the heels and turn to walk around into another direction. I capture his fist as he pounds it heavily up against the wall. A full body shot of him leaning against the same wall a moment later. 

"Mark..." His eyes are closed as he says my name. I pull the camera away from my face and look at him. To really look at him.

He motions for me to come towards him. I'm unsure as to if I should go to him or not. I'm unsure of how he will react, under the pressure.

"Mark, please. Please. Just come here." His voice is barely audible.

I turn off my camera and place it carefully down on the table. Nervously, I walk over to him. My feet shuffling against the floorboard.

"Rog?"

I watch as his shoulders begin to shake uncontrollably, tears freely running down his face. He collapses to the ground. I've never known Roger to cry. I'm lost on what to do at this moment. I kneel down to his level to face him.

"Rog, are you ok?"

He looks over at me; his washed out eyes finally meeting mine.

"Am I ok, Mark?" He closes them quickly and buries his head into his chest.

"That's wh"

"How can I possibly be ok, Mark? You tell me. The bands breaking up, I lost my job, and if all that wasn't bad enough April's fucking cheating on me." His voice increases with every word until he's screaming. I turn and close my eyes, attempting to shut out everything that's happening.

"She's not cheating on you." I try to be rational.

"I know she's out with Rich every night. Where else would she be? I know she wants him. You can see it when she looks at him. She's a slut. That's exactly what she is."

"She wouldn't do that to you." I try to reason with him.

"How the hell would you know Mark? Honestly, how would you know?" At those words an unbelievable pain seeps through my veins. I close my eyes tightly and pretend not to listen. I know he doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean it.

He's gotten up and I can feel him hovering above me now.

"How. Tell me."

I shake my head.

"I...I don't." The words getting caught in my throat.

"Of course, you don't. How could you understand anythi"

He stops mid-sentence once I push myself up off the ground and start to walk away. I need to leave. I can't be around him when he's like this. I look at my camera and decide it's a good idea. I head towards it with my head lowered. It's not long until he realizes what I'm doing.

"Mark, don't." It almost seems as if he's pleading.

I don't listen. I pick up the camera, holding it close to my chest, and start for the door.

"I'll see you later, Roger." I neglect to look at him when I say this. 

"Wait..." Going against my better judgment, I reluctantly turn around. He slowly treads towards me his green eyes never breaking contact with my own.

"What?" It comes out harsher than I expected. He starts to reach for my hands and I prepare to pull away, however it's not that he's aiming for. He quickly grabs the camera out of my grip and holds it above his head in a taunting manner.

"Mark, you need to learn what it's like to lose something important to you."

I try to look into his eyes to understand what he's thinking, but they seem void of any emotion.

"Roger, just give me my camera. I'll leave you alone, just give it back."

"No."

I watch in horror as he takes my camera, runs his fingers along it gently, then hurls it to the ground. My breath catches in my throat as it bounces off the floor, broken glass scattering on the ground. 

"What the hell, Roger!" I shout, shoving him away from me.

He smirks at my sudden outburst and it only seems to perpetuate my anger.

"You're such a fucking..." I stop myself. I don't want to say something I'll regret. I close my eyes.

"What? What, Mark? What am I?" His hands come to my shoulders. He grips them firmly, the pressure increasing with every word.

"Nothing." I whisper.

"No, Mark tell me! I want to know!" His face is inches from mine and I can feel his hot breath beating down on my face.

"Roger, I..."

"What? I'm such a fucking idiot, Mark? Is that what you were going to say? I'm such a fucking dumbass, because I don't believe you? What is it, Mark! I want you to tell me."  
I try to shrink down and loosen his grip on me, but he notices my actions and only tightens.

"Roger, please. You're hurting me."

He laughs and it catches me off guard. He lets go and I sigh a breath of relief as he smirks at me.

"Sor-" The word is unfinished as I feel his fist connect with my jaw and a sharp stinging in my lower lip. I reach up, in shock, and graze my finger against the skin. I'm greeted by the feeling of something wet. I pull it away and stare at it. Crimson water against pink flesh.

I look up, my eyes wide with shock. They follow him as he turns around and starts to walk towards the kitchen.

"Fuck you, Roger. Fuck you." I say as I slam the door behind me, wiping my lip on my sleeve. 

He's finally stopped talking and I decide it's best to leave now before he decides to leave to buy more...I can't even bring myself to think about it. I think it's better if I don't.

"I don't understand, Roger. I don't." I shake my head.

I push the box up once more and tighten my grip as I ready myself to head down the stairs. Each step is taken with the uttermost caution as if one false move could lead to my demise. I've always been a bit of a klutz, so it's particularly believable.

I successfully make it down all three flights of stairs without a single accident and I am feeling particularly pleased with myself. I forcefully kick open the entryway door with my right foot and am greeted by an overwhelming burst of cold air. The temperature along with the amount of light outside has dropped significantly since I had arrived. I push my face into the box, attempting to shield it from the frigid atmosphere. My view is a bit skewed, but I think I can manage.

After being outside in the cold for nearly five minutes, the idea of going back up to the loft sounds extremely tempting. If I apologized would he even let me back in?

No, I can't do that.

I'm starting to realize that I'm often the one apologizing for everything, excusing his actions, but after all he's only Roger. He doesn't know what he's doing. 

_After returning to the loft a few hours later, I haven't so much as looked at Roger since the incident._

In the kitchen now. I reach up into the cabinet to grab a mug. After a long debate with myself, I've decided to make a cup of tea. It seems to be the only thing that soothes my emotions, rather than filming. However, thanks to him I can't do that anymore or atleast until I can get a job to pay for another camera.

"Are you going to say anything?" His voice is soft, weak. Lost in my thoughts, I didn't realize he was next to me.

I glance over at him and observe him staring at his feet. I watch as he nervously presses the toe of his boot against the floor. As he starts to look up I turn back around, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Listen, Mark. I'm sorry." I feel my body tense as he places a hand on my shoulder. I can feel him shaking. For a moment I almost want to forgive him. Almost.

"You know what, Roger?" The sound of my own voice frightens me. It's filled with a foreign intensity. Something I've never experienced. I forcefully grip the coffee mug and walk over towards the sink, the side of my body colliding with his. He pulls back and pushes himself closer toward the counter, gripping the edge.

"I honestly don't care. You're always sorry!" My body starts to quiver in anger. I turn to face him.

"Oh, Mark, I'm sorry I couldn't do this, or Mark, I'm sorry I couldn't come. The band needed me, Mark. I'm sorry I hurt you, Mark." I'm yelling at him now. I can feel my face getting hotter, redder, with every word. Years of stored anger, finally being released. My glasses falling off the bridge of my nose, but I refuse to push them back.

"Mark, I don't..." His eyes refuse to blink. I stare into his, with such intensity, only wishing I could burn through his with my own.

"Everything I've done for you Roger!" I slam my fist against the counter and he jumps back.

"I..."

"Everything..." I whisper.

He lets out a deafening sigh.

I can't bring myself to look at him anymore. I walk out of the kitchen, slamming the mug on the t.v. as I pass. The glass shatters in my hand. I don't bother to pick up the pieces as I walk. I just want to get away.

I contemplate the idea of getting a taxi to take me to Benny's, but I realize I happen to be lacking the funds to do so. So, I'm left with no other choice than to walk. I loosen my grip on the box and start a steady pace towards Benny's apartment. I'm thankful it's not that far.

"The fact that stop lights take forever, is honestly not making this trip any better." I mumble to myself and shake my head. The absence of my camera, I believe, is making me a little more irritated than usual.

Once the light has finally signaled for me to walk I let out an overly dramatic sigh of relief. I push the box up once more and start to head across the unoccupied road.

My hands are starting to feel numb, but I fight back the urge to stop and place them in my pockets. I burst of freezing wind assults my face and I shiver slightly.

"I should be there be now." I groan loudly, while using the edge of the box to push up my falling glasses. I'm starting to regret even waking up this morning. I sigh and continue walking.

"Hey, man. Gotta a dollar?" A voice stops me in my tracks. I look over and notice a man resting calmly against a concrete wall. The hood of his jacket is pulled over his head. His face is difficult to make out. Darkened by the shadow.

I shake my head and continue to walk.

"Come on. I know you got something." He's resistant to give up.

"I don't have any money." 

"You sure? 'Cause you know I'll give"

"Yes, I'm sure." It comes out rather coldly, but I'm not in the mood to be dealing with anyone.

"Man, you don't..."

I'm more than annoyed at my inability to get to my destination and being stopped by some junkie isn't making me feel any better. Refusing to listen to him continue to speak I start to walk off in the opposite direction.

"I can't understand why I'm not there yet." I could of sworn Benny's was closer. My grip decreasing on the box, I push it up once more.

The soft sound of footsteps from behind, startles me. I look back, while continuing to walk forward. Seeing no one, I shrug. I start to continue when a sharp pain in my side causes me to loosen my grip on the box. I choke on my own breath, when I feel something quickly crash against my skull. I moan in pain as the box drops from my hands and I collapse on the ground. I cold pavement assaults my skin. I attempt to push myself up when a strong force pushes me back down.

"Don't move."

I feel something pulling at my coat and I kick my leg back attempting to get rid of my attacker.

My actions are quickly stopped when a fast kick is delivered to my ribcage.

I quick breath escapes my lips and the voices around me start to fade into the distance. I close my eyes.

_"Hey Mark!" _

"What?" I groan, upset that I have just been awoken from my slumber.

I roll over and press my face into the pillow beneath me. I refuse to look up assuming that as soon as Roger leaves I'll be able to go back to bed.

I feel the mattress sink as he places himself on top of it. He starts to bounce, which is rather irritating.

"Heeey Mark..." He's very enthusiastic for it being this early.

I attempt to tell him to leave, but it only comes out as muffled mumbling against the pillow. He grabs and starts to shake my shoulders, while telling me to get up at the same time.

I regretfully lift myself off my resting place and turn around to face him.

"Roger, go away." I say as I close my eyes again.

"It's nice to know you're talking to me again."

"Go."

"But, Marky..." I hate it when he calls me that. I open an eye to see what he wants. The sooner he leaves the better.

I feel someone gripping my shoulders. A faint voice lurking in the background. Warm hands pulling me off the ground. I moan and try to resist, not wanting to move.

_"Mark, I got you a present." The fact that he has his hands behind his back, for an instance makes me believe he's not lying._

"The only thing I want from you right now is to leave me alone." I roll my eyes.

"You're starting to sound like me." He laughs and I roll back over.  
  
"Get up..." The voice is familiar I can almost make it out.

"Please, Mark. Listen to me. Wake up." I can feel the body above me trembling slightly.

I quickly inhale and make an attempt at opening my eyes. My vision blurred. I realize I have lost my glasses. Squinting, I look up and see a figure standing above me.

"Oh my god, Mark." The voice is rushed and out of breath.

"Mark, are you ok? It's me, Roger." Genuine concern.

"I..." I groan.

"I left to get..." He stops.

"I found you out here. You scared the shit out of me." He quickly finishes.

"Mark? Are you ok?"

"I think so." I try to push myself up, but my arms are shaking too bad to do so. Roger offers his hand, I accept it, and he pulls me up carefully.

"Thanks, Rog." I say, while brushing myself off. He watch as he bends down and picks something up off the ground.

"Here. Your glasses." He slowly hands them to me. I quickly rub the both lenses with my shirtsleeve and place them onto my face.

I look around to trying to recall what had happened.

"Roger, wha-"

"Mark..." He cuts me off.

"Yeah?" I turn back to face him.

"I don't think you should go."

"Roger, I honestly don't"

"Just for tonight. You can leave tomorrow morning. Besides, you look like shit. Not to mention it's late. What hap"

"Hey, you don't look so hot yourself, Rog." I interrupt.

He laughs at that remark. I haven't heard him laugh in a long time. It's nice to hear it again. 

I look behind me trying to find my things. I don't understand where they could be.

"Rog, have you seen..." I stop mid-sentence, when I spot the camera 3 feet away. I walk over and kneel to the ground, picking it up. I dart my head around to find the rest of my belongings. Unable to locate them I start to feel panicked. I can't believe it. Everything is gone.

"Come on, Marky. It's not safe." I spot a piece of cardboard, under my shoe.

"Since, you called me that I think I shall have to decline your offer." I say picking up the cardboard remant. I look at it and then turn around to face him. I throw the cardboard down to the ground.

"Come on." He shakes he head and tries to stifle a laugh, motioning for me to follow.

_"Fine, Mark. I guess you don't want your new camera." He emphasizes the words 'new camera'._

I quickly turn back over at this. I look up and see him holding just as he promised a new camera.

"Roger...what the?"

"I felt bad about the other day. You know. I sort of blew up at you. And well"

He's stopped mid-sentence as I reach up and hug him tightly, pulling him down towards me. He attempts to hug back, but Roger has never been one for showing affection. Plus, I believe he is rather worried about breaking the camera.

"Thank you." I say, grinning ear to ear.

He laughs loudly and sincerely at my unusual act.

"You're welcome. Now, get off me."

I let go and he hands the new camera to me. I grin eagerly at my new present. Examining every part of it, I start to feel him watching me. I look up and see him smiling at me, but then attempts to look away when he notices I've spotted him staring.

His actions make me laugh and he blushes at the sound.

"I got you some film, too. I figured you could use some more." He smiles and walks out of the room to grab it.

I sit on the bed, legs crossed, hugging the camera tightly to my chest. I beam at him as he walks into the room. He shakes his head.

He sits back down on my rugged mattress and hands the film to me. I place it in the camera carefully. I turn it on, smiling at the familiar hum, and film as he lifts himself off the mattress and walks to the door. He stops before he opens it and looks back at me.

"Thanks, Mark."

"For wh" 

He closing the door behind him quickly cuts me off.

I hold the camera up towards my face and smile into it.

"I really don't understand why he did it, or why he does anything for that matter, but I think what matters is that he atleast tried to make it better."

I turn the camera off and place it on the ground beside me. 

He turns around to see if I'm following him. He continues to stare when he sees I've made no attempt.

"Well? Are you coming?" He tilts his head and pulls his jacket closer to his body.

"Yeah. It is really cold out here."

I think I could give him one more chance.

**A/N:** I'm working on Chapter 3 at the moment, just having a bit of difficulty sorting my thoughts around and trying to put what I see into words, expect it up in the next few days. Reviews, of course, are highly appreciated. They also motivate me to post new chapters faster. :)


	3. Does April know

**Title: **The pain I feel is only temporary (Yes! I so made a title.)  
**Pairing: **Let's just say this is a slash-free chapter  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Summary:** Chapter 3 starts off where Chapter 2 ended...sort of. Roger and April make a trip to the hospital. Oh, Roger has a few tiny flashbacks. What can I say I'm a flashback kind of girl.  
**Disclaimer:** Nothing. I own nothing.

**Chapter 3: Does April know**

I stand on the sidewalk waiting for him to answer my question. My body shivering from the cold; I pull my leather jacket closer to my frame, and shove my hands into the pockets. The sensation of something cool and smooth against my fingertips causes me to pull them back out quickly. The familiar plastic against my skin. I'm forced into remembering why I came outside in the first place. I close my eyes and try to fight back the urge to leave and finish what I started.

_"Sometimes the pain, Mark, it gets so bad." I close my eyes tightly at this statement and increase my grip on the counter edge, trying to stop my hands from shaking. _

_"Roger..." He looks up from reading his latest script. His eyes finally meeting mine, damp with unfallen tears._

_"Mark, if I could stop I would. Believe me." _

_"I don't know if I can anymore."_

"Roger? Rog? Hey..." I open my eyes, only to be greeted by him rapidly snapping his fingers in front of my face. I blink heavily, attempting to break free of my thoughts.

"What?"

"I said I'd come with you." He smiles.

"Oh, ok." I say watching each breath come before me as a slight puff of smoke.

The walk home between us is silent. I turn occasionally and open my mouth to speak to Mark, but no words are formed. For once I don't know what to say to him. After finding him there, so alone, vulnerable, hurt, I've come to realize he means more to me than I had initially thought.

**-The Next Morning-**

"Rog, get up." The sound of his voice makes me cringe slightly. It's too early for me to deal with him, much less anyone, now.

I feel his hands pulling me off the mattress, but I use all of my weight to bring myself back down. I'm thankful I still weigh more than him, or that he's just rather weak. I think it might be a bit of both.

"Roger, you need to get up." Mark's voice is a bit more commanding this time.

Straining to open my eyes, I look over and glance at the clock besides me watching as the glowing red numbers change from 11:15 to 11:16. I yawn slightly and roll to my side, trying to fall back asleep. It's too early for his shit.

"Damnit, Roger!"

"It's too early, Mark." I groan.

"Honestly, Rog. She's waiting for you. Get up!" He starts tugging at my shirtsleeve and I abruptly pull away. I'm starting to think Mark doesn't understand when people want to be left alone.

"Who?"

"Who do you think? She's been out there for almost an hour now." He sighs.

"Why don't you take her?" I yawn loudly and press my face into the mattress below me. I had forgotten about April's appointment.

"Because she's not **my** girlfriend."

"Well, tell her we're breaking up and you're dating her, until this damn doctor's thing is over."

I hear him sigh and gradually walk out of the room, closing the door behind him. I smile to myself, knowing I will finally be able to get the rest I crave.

"ROGER DAVIS! GET UP! NOW!" My eyes quickly open once I hear the sound of the door thrown open, slamming into the wall beside it.

Rubbing my eyes, I look over and see April standing in the doorway. Her blonde hair flowing freely around her face, with paint splattered sweatpants hanging loosely around her hips, a small black jacket wrapped around her frame.

"Come on. I have to be there at noon." I observe her as she taps her foot, impatiently, against the floor.

"I don't want to go. Can't you change your appointment? Let's go tomorrow." I say, pulling the sheet above my head, attempting to block out the light that is quickly enveloping the room.

"Roger!" She pleads.

"April!" I say mimicking her tone.

"Roger, please. I don't want to go alone." I can see the face she's making in my mind now. Her bottom lip slightly sticking out, eyes shut, a blond hair pirouetting between her fingers.

"Take Mark with you." I plead.

"Roger, I have things" He says as I hear him step into the room.

"Bullshit, Mark." I quickly cut him off, pulling the sheet off my body and pushing myself off the mattress. "You can take her."

"Did you forget that I'm in the process of moving?" His eyes burn into my own and I look away.

"You're moving?" April's startled whisper causes me to quickly face her.

I realize I had forgotten to tell her, but what would I have said to her? That he's leaving because I've harmed him so many times I'm incapable of counting them. Because I've said so many insulting things to Mark, just to make him feel the pain I that I'm experiencing. That I've thrown, shattered, and destroyed everything he's loved so many times that he's at the point to which he's afraid to be around me at times. And that there's one reason for it all, a reason I could never bring myself to discuss with the ones, who could help me defeat it.

"Yeah." He sighs. Mark pulls his glasses off, and begins to wipe them, although his eyes stare at the floor.

"Why?"

I look at him and close my own, silently praying he won't tell her the truth.

_"Does she know?" A heated whisper. _

_"What?" I stop my attempts to tune my guitar and look up, setting it besides me. _

_"Does April know what you're doing to yourself? Does she know you're pumping that shit into your veins, Roger?" His face is lowered as he says this. _

_"No." I reply, my eyes transfixed on a loose string from my shirt. I start to tug at it, giving me a reason not to face him. _

_"If you don't tell her, Roger..." He stops causing me to look up from my actions. _

_"Roger, if you don't tell her...I will." _

_I allow my eyes to follow him as he picks up his camera and walks out of the room. I slowly close my eyes and permit myself to fall backwards onto my mattress._

He puts them back on and looks at me, his eyes quietly pleading with me to say something. I know he doesn't want to tell her, even if he knows he should. He couldn't hurt her like that.

"Alright, I'm coming." I say, trying to relieve the tension that is slowly filling the room.

I watch Mark as his expression quickly changes from regretful to relieved. He sighs softly and I allow a small smile to spread across my face, knowing he feels better.

"Finally." April sighs. "Hurry up and get ready. I'll be waiting for you downstairs."

My eyes follow her as she pulls her jacket closer to her body and gracefully walks out of the room.

I listen for the sound of the front door closing, knowing we're alone, before I can bring myself to look at him.

"Mark..." I whisper, even though I know there's no one here, but us.

"Just go, Roger." He turns around and begins to head for the door.

"I'm sor"

"I know you are. You always are."

I shut my eyes as he closes the door behind him. Maybe if I lay here long enough they'll forget about me. I think it's the best thing I could possibly do for either of them.

**-At the Hospital-**

"I hate hospitals." I say loudly enough for the woman sitting in front of us to look up from her paper. I roll my eyes at her actions and she huffs in displeasure.

April looks at her and then at me, giggling slightly.

I groan and try to adjust my body to be able to sit comfortably against the cold plastic seat below me. They really know how to make you feel welcome here.

"I want to go home." I plead with her, hoping she'll agree.

"I know, babe."

I sigh and look down at April as she smiles, her feeble attempt to make me feel comfortable about being in this place. I allow myself to return the smile, no matter how painful it may be, if only to make her feel a similar feeling of comfort.

"I really don't understand why you had to come here in the first place." I close my eyes as I feel her begin to rest her head on my shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. We'll, be out of here before you know it." Her hand carefully finds mine and she pushes her fingers through my own.

"I highly doubt it."

"Rog, quit whining." She says as she playfully smacks her hand against my chest.

I laugh softly at her actions and watch as she smirks up at me, knowing she's soothed my anxiety for the time being.

"Harrison? April Harrison?" Her face quickly falls once she's heard her name called. I hesitantly let go of her hand, wishing she didn't have to leave me here.

"You'll be fine." She says, noticing my reaction.

I sigh and close my eyes, once she has left the room, slowly allowing my body to make up for the rest I had lost this morning.

"Rog…"

I open my eyes. I'm not sure if it's because of the discomfort I'm feeling or the sound of her voice, but smile up at her anyway. Atleast she's ok and we'll be out of here soon. Although, at the moment it doesn't feel like soon enough.

Looking up at her I notice her eyes are red, wet. The sadness I see there makes me forget the pain I'm feeling at the moment. I knew coming here was a mistake. I told her it was.

"April, what is it?"

"It's nothing, Roger." She softly closes them and lowers her head.

"April?" I say clenching my stomach. Oh, God. It feels like I haven't had a hit in hours. I wouldn't be surprised if that's the case.

"I'm fine." She says harshly.

I know it's not normal for April to act like this but I shrug it off anyway. The current pain that is flowing through my body is enough to make me apathetic about anything at this moment. Sometimes, when it gets like this though, that horrible sensation that feels like it will never go away, it almost makes me want to quit. But then I remember how good it can be and that the pain I feel is only temporary.

"I want to go, Roger. Let's go home." She sighs.

"Can you give me a second? I need to go to the bathroom." I abruptly close my eyes, detesting myself for lying to her, no matter how easily the words escape my mouth.

She shrugs, her eyes fixed on the ground below us.

"I'll be right back."

She doesn't reply, but at the moment I don't really care. My mind, my body is focused on one thing now. I need it so bad.

**-Back At The Loft-**

"Welcome back guys." Mark calls out cheerfully as we walk in the front door. He looks up from the yellow notepad within his hands. I assume it's a new script he's working on.

I smile at him and return my gesture to April. The smile quickly fades, however, once I notice her somber expression hasn't changed since we left the hospital. It's starting to worry me. This isn't like her. April, unlike Mark and I, would never shut anyone out.

"How'd it go April?" He asks placing the notepad on the couch arm beside him.

When she doesn't reply he looks at me and I shrug. The only explanation I have been able to come up with, for her strange behavior, is that she's tired. I think I would be, too, after being around all of those people, prodding and poking at me for hours.

"I'll be in the other room." She says, refusing to look at either of us as she speaks.

Once she leaves I walk quietly over to Mark and sit down besides him. I timidly allow my eyes to travel over his face. Noticing the stubble forming on his jaw, I realize that I sometimes, I forget how old he actually is.

Mark has always seemed, and probably always will, uncomfortable in his own body. It makes him appear as though he's still that immature teenager I met years ago, but these little changes I notice in him, even as trivial as the small growth of hair on his chin, forces me into recognizing that he is a man. Not that weak boy I used to know years ago. The boy I could easily take advantage of. The friend, who was always there for me.

"Forgot to shave?" I say trying to break the silence between us.

"Did you do it today?" He whispers, his eyes refusing to meet my gaze.

"What? Shave? Yeah, what does it-"

"No. Did you use today?" Mark's words are almost inaudible.

"I…" A small sigh barely escapes my lips. "Yeah, Mark." For some reason I can't lie to him. Why can I lie to her?

"Roger, why? Why do you do this to yourself? To April?" He finally allows his eyes to meet my own.

"Mark, you know I'd stop if I could."

"No, Roger. You'd stop if you wanted to. If you cared about her. About me." He reaches over for the notepad besides him, but I quickly grab his arm, stopping him. .

"I do care, Mark." My eyes attempting to find his.

"You don't." He shakes his head.

"Mark, if I didn't care I would of left you out there that night!"

"Roger, you-"

"You know what, Mark?" I yell letting go of his arm. "You are one of the most ungrateful people I have ever met. You can't accept the fact that someone does care about you. That I do, Mark. I do. You're just too wrapped up in your fucking filming to notice."

I watch the shock of my statement registering on his face.

"Fuck you, Roger." His voice is soft, hurt.

"No, Mark, fuck you. How do you not see how much you mean to me?" The image of him lying on the ground flashes through my mind once more.

His silence forces me to continue.

"Mark, how can you not see it? I mean, you, I…I can lie to April about the drugs, about where I go at nights, about how much I love her, but you…Mark for some reason…I can't lie when I look at you."

"Roger." He places a hand on my shoulder and I quickly push him off, ashamed for what I had just said to him.

"Forget it, Mark. You're right."

"No, Rog. I just-"

"I said forget it. You're right. Feel better? Mark Cohen is once again right about his heartless, junkie friend, Roger Davis." I say coldly.

"Roger, it's not like…"

"Mark, I want you gone tomorrow." I can't look at him when I say these things.

"Roger…"

I refuse to answer him and I know Mark's eyes are watching me as I push myself off of the couch. I slam the door behind me as I walk into my room.

"I hate him. I really fucking hate him." I say, climbing into bed, besides April.

Listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, I quietly pray that the discomfort I'm feeling will go away before I'm forced into committing an act I know I'll regret, even if the one that I'm most worried about hurting doesn't believe that I'll feel it.

**A/N:** Sorry, it took so long to get this out. I was having trouble getting back into Roger's character. So if it's a little OOC, I apologize. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it is absolutely horrible. I know it is. Don't lie…haha. I know a lot didn't really happen, but believe me…the next one will be worth it. Oh, it's going to be good. I can't wait...plus…I'm looking forward to writing as Mark again. Ah, Marky wins my heart everytime. Once again comments/reviews/suggestions are greatly appreciated. Thanks for taking the time out to read this:)


	4. I'm sorry, mother

**Title:** The Pain I Feel Is Only Temporary  
**Pairing:** Mark/Maureen, Roger/April  
**Rating:** PG-13/R  
**Summary:** Mark and April have a conversation about her reasons for going to the hospital and her relationship with Roger. A young Mimi is introduced. It's pretty much a lot of conversation, but it's long. (Twelve flippin' pages!) At least that's something.  
**Disclaimer:** One day, I'll be a gazillionaire and I'll not only own these boys, but I'll own Donald Trump, as well. That's right. The Donald. He'll still own the rights to his trademark phrase, but I'll come up with something more catchy like, "You're $#ing terminated. Now, go home." But until that day comes, I'm pretty much broke and own nothing. I have like twenty bucks, so if you'd like to contribute to my 'Help Brittany buy RENT and the Mark, Roger, and Donald' fund it will be greatly appreciated. So, for now all I can tell you is I don't own these characters or the fantastic show they're from.

**A/N:** I would like to apologize in advance, before you begin, for the crappiness of this chapter. It's a lot of dialogue but, hey, if you're into that sorta stuff then go ahead and enjoy. It's like an all you can eat buffet of Mark/April/Benny/Mimi dialogue. :)  
**  
Chapter 4: I'm sorry, mother**

I sit on the sofa, legs crossed, a cigarette in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other. Staring down at the notepad resting on my lap, I bring the cigarette up slowly up to my lips and sigh gently. Roger's words still continue to echo in my mind an hour later. I know I shouldn't let it bother me, because he doesn't mean it, but for some reason it does. Those few words stung more than any blow he's ever given me. Than any action he's ever committed just to harm me.

_"You can't accept the fact that someone does care about you. That I do, Mark. I do. You're just too wrapped up in your fucking filming to notice." _

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thoughts that pollute my mind, and continue to stare down at the blank sheet below me.

"How much do I fucking suck right now?" I roll my eyes. "I can't even get one line written."

Taking the cigarette within my hand I position it between my lips, as I set the pen against the yellow paper underneath, and attempt to write something. Anything.

I stay in that same position for minutes, ignoring the built up ash that continues to fall onto my body.

"Fuck. What is wrong with me? I can't think." My thoughts are spoken into the empty air. This lack of inspiration is beginning to disgust me. Why the hell, did I ever decide to do this shit?

"I give up." I groan moments later, throwing my head back against the couch underneath me. "I fucking give up."

Irritated, I put the cigarette out on the table in front of me. It'll leave a nasty mark, but it's not like anyone would notice, or care much for that matter.

Taking my glasses off, I rub my tired eyes, and slowly began to let them travel along the room. It's about three in the morning and the lights are off, but I know enough to know that this place looks like shit. Not that it isn't. I won't deny that, but it could look better if it was clean. Hell, what do I care? It's not like I'll be staying here much longer.

I place my glasses back onto my face and rest my head against the sofa edge. Closing my eyes, I attempt to bring to mind something to write. Something that isn't complete shit.

"Mark." The feeling of someone roughly shaking my left shoulder breaks me from my unconscious.

I groan and slowly open my eyes. April's standing in front of me, phone in hand.

"What?" I say irritated.

"It's for you." She hands it to me and I grab it holding it to my closely to my chest, so that the person on the line can't hear us talking.

"What time is it?" I say between yawns.

"I don't know, like 5:30." She shrugs. I must have fallen asleep.

"Fuck, it's early."

"I know, and you're lucky, I answered it. You know he…" she stops and points towards Roger's bedroom door "would have been pissed if it woke him up."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I say, rolling my eyes at her.

"You wouldn't be saying that when he was kicking your ass." She laughs.

"Well, I wouldn't count on that." I reply smugly.

"Hah, you think he co—"

"Who is it?" I interrupt.

"Huh, what? Oh, it's Maureen."

She smirks at me and climbs on the nearest sofa cushion. I roll my eyes at her actions as she turns on the TV, giving the room an ounce of light.

"Hello?" I utter a little too quickly.

"Hello? Hello? Anyone there?" Maureen must not have heard me.

"Yeah?" I say, a little more unhurriedly this time.

"Mark?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Mark!" She yells and I wince. "I've been looking for you all night! I thought you said we were going out?"

"We were." Shit. I had forgotten to call her.

"Well, why weren't you there? You said you'd meet me at the bar at eight." She pouts.

"It's just some things happened and I couldn't make it." This was partly true. "I'm so sorry, Mo."

"It's ok." She sighs, trying to make me feel guilty. It works.

"Maureen, I wanna make it up to you. What can I do?"

"Mark, jus—"

"I'll take you out tonight. We'll go to that club that you've been wanting to go to."

"Mark, please."

"I feel like such shit for doing that to you, Mo."

"I forgive you, pookie." She giggles, obviously enjoying my submission. "But, uh, why aren't you at Benny's?" Shit, I have to call him, too.

"Oh, well, I sorta got the shit beat out of me," I laugh slightly, "and passed out on the way there."

"Oh my god! Are you ok?" I smile at the thought of her being concerned with my well-being. At least someone is.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I lost all my shit, though." I pause. "Rog found me and just said I could stay here for the night."

"Well, that's good. At least you're ok."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm going to let you get some rest, babe. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'll call Benny later and let him know I'm here."

I hang up the phone and place it on the stack of papers beside me. I sigh heavily and look over at April. The light from the TV. flickers on her face. Her blonde curls are pulled back into a messy bun and she's still wearing the clothes from yesterday.

I wonder if Roger's asked her to move in yet. He had told me he was going to ask her once I left, but it was more of a threat, though, than an actual statement. He had gotten pissed at me when I told him he'd regret me leaving. He told me to fuck off, that he'd have April live with him, and he didn't need me. He keeps doing that. Claiming he never needs me, but yet he's always asking me to come back and I do. I keep going back to him.

"What'd she want?" April says her eyes never leaving the TV screen.

"To bitch at me for forgetting to meet her." I say, pushing a hand through my hair.

"Yeah, and you just sat there and took it."

"Whatever." I say reaching for another cigarette.

"You're so fucking whipped, Mark."

I shake my head and she smirks at me.

"You know you are."

"Shut up, April." I say, while attempting to light the cigarette within my hand. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Oh, Maureen, I'll do whatever you want. Anything you ask, Mo, I'll do it. I'd fuck my best friend if it made you happy, baby." She mocks.

"You're such an ass." I say while releasing a puff of smoke.

"No, you are." She grins, pulling the cigarette from my lips. "That's such a dirty habit, Mark."

"Give it back." I reach out trying to grab it.

"Nope. You need to quit. I don't need you getting lung cancer on me." She says, putting the cigarette out.

"I'm sorry, mother." I reply and her playful expression suddenly changes.

She looks away and I watch her start to gradually rise off the couch. She sighs heavily, signaling that something's wrong.

"Was it something I said? April?"

She ignores me and begins to walk away with her head lowered to the floor.

"Damnit, April. What's wrong?" I say irritated. I hate it when she pulls this shit with me.

"It's nothing." She turns around and smiles. It's painfully fake.

"Come here." I say patting the seat cushion next to me.

"I'm just tired, Mark. I'm going to bed."

"You're a terrible liar, April. I can't believe you think you can't tell me."

"Why don't you mind your own fucking business, Mark?" I watch her reach for the doorknob and begin to turn it. The small amount of light from the television flickers off the handle.

"Well, seeing as you're my best friend's girlfriend and if you're upset, he'll be upset and if he's upset he'll take it out on me, it is my business."

"I..."

"April, you can tell me." I sigh.

"It's nothing. You wouldn't want to hear it anyway. So, I'll talk to you tomorrow." She says opening the door. The sound of Roger's heavy snoring fills the room.

"Come on, April. When have I ever not listened to you?"

We remain in our positions for a few minutes, neither of us moving or saying a word until I look away, pretending to lose interest.

"Fine." She sighs in defeat and I turn my head around and watch her walk, slowly, over to the sofa, taking a seat next to me. She quickly begins to fidget with her blonde hair, her eyes stare straight ahead, and her brow is furrowed in thought.

"Mark, do you know what I want more than anything in the world?" She begins after a moment of this.

"What?" I say watching the light from the TV spread a glow along her pale face.

"To be with Roger."

"But April, uh, you are with Roger." I laugh, not understanding what she means.

"Not really, Mark." She closes her eyes and releases a gentle sigh.

"I don't...I don't get it." I say, shaking my head.

"He's just not there, Mark. Physically, he is, but mentally it's almost like he's tuned me out."

"April, yo--"

"You know, I'm right, Mark." She says, cutting me off. "You've seen it. He's gone all night..." April pauses. "Probably with whatever whore he can find." She lets out a disgusted snort at the thought.

"April, like he would..."

"Mark, I've found shit in his room that he can't explain. When I ask he freaks out and says it's not his. I believe him. I do, but he won't tell me who it belongs to."

"What?" I say in disbelief.

"I've found syringes, new and old...even heroin. You know, he actually tried to tell me that it was fucking sugar. Does he think I'm stupid?"

"Are you serious?" I try to sound shocked, hoping she'll believe I am.

Shit, he said he hid it. He said he would fucking hide it from her, so she wouldn't have to know. April doesn't need to be a part of that. She deserves so much better.

I can't fucking believe him. Why hasn't he told me she knew?

"Mark, do you know? Do you know whose it is?" I close my, fearing if she looks at me I won't be able to keep this secret from her. All I can do is shake my head.

"I think, I bet, it's someone's from the band, Mark. I mean, Roger, he wouldn't do that shit. He knows better than that and, I know, _you_ are too much of a prude to even think about using."

I only nod, not knowing what to say to her. I want to tell her the truth, but for some reason I can't.

"Mark, he'll come over at these insane times and won't speak to me and..." She pauses, "he won't even look at me. It's like he's guilty or something...and he knows it."

"April, I think you're just overreacting."

"Mark, he..."

I put my hand on her shoulder and give a small squeeze, trying to reassure her. "April, he wouldn't cheat. Believe me."

"But I don't want to take that chance, Mark. I love him. I really do. If I lost him, I don't know what I'd do."

"And he feels the same way, April." I say trying to comfort her.

"Mark, I want to have his baby." She whispers, refusing to meet my gaze.

"What!" I shout, in disbelief, and she cringes.

"Mark, it's the only way he'll stay with me."

"Are you fucking crazy, April! What are you thinking! Are you even thinking?" I can't believe she said that.

"Well, you---"

"He can't even fucking take care of himself. Hell, you can barely do it, April. You're young still; you don't need to have a child to keep him." I say. My voice rises with every word spoken. I can't let her do something this stupid.

"Mark, you don't---"

"I can't believe..." I say, shaking my head. She's too young for this and Roger, hell, the thought of him as a father to anything at this moment sickens me. The drugs. The drugs are too important to him right now for him to stop and worry about another life around him.

"Well, Mark you don't have to fucking worry about it. I'm not pregnant and I can't fucking get pregnant." She shouts angrily.

"What?"

"I can't get pregnant, Mark." Her voice lowers dramatically.

"What'd you mean? Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't fucking know." April says, shaking her head slowly.

"Did the doctors tell you this?" I say concerned.

"Well, no, but I've tried Mark. I've been trying for months. I haven't taken my birth control in, I don't know how long, and we haven't used a condom since we first had sex."

I cringe, not really wanting to know that.

"I don't understand why this isn't working." She says with a puzzled expression.

"April..." I can't think of anything to say, all I can do is hope that she'll know how much I care.

"I thought I was finally pregnant, Mark." Her blue eyes stare into my own.

"Yeah?"

She nods, "I've been throwing up for at least a week now, that's what woke me up this morning. I thought, that maybe, possibly it could have been morning sickness and you don't know how happy I was, Mark." She laughs and wipes her eyes. "Can you imagine? Someone being happy about being woken up at four in the morning to throw up." She shakes her head.

I smile weakly at her and pull my glasses off to clean them.

"Well, that's what my doctor's appointment was for. I thought...I hoped I was pregnant, but…" She lets out a small sigh, "I wasn't."

"April..."

"It's ok, Mark."

"Maybe it's just the flu?" I shrug.

"I don't know Mark."

I reach out to hug her and she returns the gesture. "If there's anything I can do…" I whisper into her ear. "Let me know.

"Thanks Mark." We release each other at the same time and she smiles slightly. I watch her as she begins to climb off the couch. "Well, I'm going to bed."

"Goodnight." I say with a yawn.

"Good morning" She replies. "Look."

I didn't realize it had become daylight. The once dark room was now filled with a soft yellow glow. I pick up my fallen legal pad off the floor and pen besides it. Maybe, now that I'm slightly rested I can think of something for this script.

"Mark..." Her voice 'causes me to stop my actions and look up at her.

"Yeah?"

"Can you believe they actually wanted me to take an HIV test?" She laughs, almost forced. "I mean, come on! How in the hell would I have HIV? They're fucking crazy in there."

"Yeah, they are." I say slightly puzzled that she brought this up. "So, what'd you say?"

She shrugs. "I told them I'd do it. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what'd Roger say? Did he get one?" I say, suddenly wondering if he ever shares needles with other junkies.

"No. He doesn't know. He was already pissed, because I made him come with me, and I think if I asked him to even think about having a needle shoved in his arm he'd storm out."

"_Yeah, but I bet it if was filled with heroin he'd fucking jump at the chance."_

"How long do you have to wait before you get the results?" I say, curiously.

"I'm not sure. I think a few months."

"Oh." I say, while staring down at my still empty notebook.

"Well, I'll talk to you later, Mark."

"Ok."

"Hey, Mark…"

"Huh?"

"Remember to call Benny."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"No problem, Cohen."

Once I hear the door close, I reach down for the phone and dial Benny's number. It's early, but I think he's up getting ready for work now. I'm slightly amazed at Benny's growing work ethic.

The phone rings for a few, before he finally answers.

"Hello?" He says sounding rather groggy. Shit, maybe he doesn't have work today.

"Hey. Did I wake you up?"

"No, but who is this?"

"It's me. Mark. You dumbass." I laugh.

"Shit, where were you last night!" He shouts into the receiver. Damn, why is everyone doing that?

"It's a long story," I sigh. I'm not really in the mood to re-tell the story or hear the assortment of questions I'll get when I do. "…but I just wanted you to know I'm back at the loft."

"Well, are you still staying there or coming to live with me? What's the deal?" He sounds rather irritated, but I would be, too.

"I'm really not sure. Roger got pissed at me last night and demanded that I leave, but you know how he can be."

"Yeah."

"I just keep feeling like I shouldn't leave him here alone. You know?"

"He won't be alone. He's got April there, right?"

"I'm not sure, but I think she knows, or at least will know soon and when she does I'm not so sure that she'll be willing to stay with him"

"Wait…knows what?"

"The drugs, Benny."

"Oh. He's still using?" He says sounding somewhat shocked.

"Yeah. He won't quit. I've offered to get him help, but you know how stubborn he can be."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I'm not really sure. I don't think there's anything I can do."

"I understand, man. It's gotta be hard to have to deal with that shit. I don't understand why you don't leave his ass, though."

"Yeah." I sigh. "Sometimes, I don't even understand it, but when I figure out what I'm going to do, I'll let you know."

"Ok." He pauses. "Hey, Mark what are you doing tonight?"

"Uh…"

"'Cause, you know, I just found out about this new club right around where you live."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's some sort of S&M shit. It could be cool. It's like five blocks away." It's evident he's trying to convince me and himself at the same time.

"Do we have to wear all leather?" I ask, partly as a joke, but mostly because I'd like to know and I'm not in the mood to go somewhere where I'm going to sweat to death.

He laughs. "I doubt it, man. So do you wanna go?"

"I might, Benny. I have to go out with Maureen later tonight, though."

"What are you guys supposed to be doing?" He questions.

"Going to this club she's been bugging me to take her to for the past week." I shrug then realize he can't see me do it. "Hey…" I think for a moment. "What the name of that place you were talking about?"

"Cat Scratch…something…"

"The Cat Scratch Club?"

"Yeah, that's it! Have you been there?"

"No, but that's the place Maureen's been talking about. That where we're going tonight."

"Well, man, maybe I'll see you guys there."

"Yeah."

"Ok, well Mark, I gotta go. I have to be to work in fifteen."

"Ok. Talk to you la---" He hangs up before I can finish.

Hanging up the phone, I place it on the table in front of me. Maybe going to this Cat Scratch bullshit is just what I need. Who knows? Maybe I'll get some crazy burst of inspiration and come up with this award winning script, which will then turn into an award winning film. Ok, now I'm really starting to bullshit myself. I need to keep thinking of something.

I once again pick up my ever-blank notepad and pen. But I toss it back down just as quickly, when I hear a soft knock on the door. Reluctantly I push myself off the couch; I walk over, quickly opening it.

A young girl stands, timidly, in front of me in the darkened hallway. She looks young, about fourteen or fifteen. She shifts uncomfortably and runs her small hand through her seemingly endless curls.

"Yeah?" I say after a few moments of this awkward silence, slightly annoyed and restless.

"Uh, well, uh…Hi." She flashes a quick smile at me.

"Hi? What'd you need?" I say, hoping to get rid of this girl as soon as possible. The sooner she leaves the sooner I can finish, well start, working.

"I was wondering...if you had a phone I could use." She says uneasily. She shifts from one foot to the next.

"Yeah." I sigh. "It's right over there." I point to the floor and she walks in hesitantly. I soon follow.

"Thanks." She says, as I take my seat back on the sofa.

"No problem."

I look over at her as her brow furrows in thought; obviously trying to remember the number she's attempting to dial. Her face doesn't look familiar to me. I try to think back to remember if I've ever seen her around her, but nothing comes to mind. She must be new.

"I'm Mimi, by the way." She says putting the phone up to her ear and smiling towards me.

"Mark." I reply. Then turn away again once she re-focuses on her phone conversation.

She's finishes about five minutes later, placing the phone, carefully, back where she got it.

"Thanks, a lot." She smiles gently and genuinely at me.

"No problem." I try to return the same.

"I was going to use the payphone outside, but I'm sorta…well broke." She continues and begins to fidget with a stray curl, wrapping it around her pinky.

"Oh. Same here." I say tapping my fingers against the sofa arm.

"Well, I suppose I should be going now." She smiles uneasily, attempting to break the growing tension in the room.

"Yeah." I reply. I can't think of anything else to say.

"Yeah, well, nice to meet you, Mark." She shrugs.

"You too." I smile weakly, watching her walk towards the door.

"Hey..." I say stopping her in her tracks.

"Yeah?"

"By any chance do you happen to know where that new bar is?"

"What new bar?" A puzzled expression overtakes her face. The Cat Scratch Club?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, Mark, you happen to be in luck." She smiles somewhat mischievously. "Today...just happens to be my first day."

**A/N #2:** Guess what? I don't like this chapter, _at all_. (I do like the chapter's title, though, because it makes me think of that Eminem song and that MadTV sketch.) Isn't it awful? It's nothing, but shitty dialogue. I'm sorry, guys. I think in my next chapter no one will be able to talk at all.

Maybe I need to get all this dialogue out before I can get some nice narration going on. Maybe…

Well, I suppose the next chapter shall be about twenty times better. I at least hope so.

I haven't really felt like writing anything in Mark's P.O.V. lately, well within those last few months, because well my Mark's duller than dirt. You know he is. Don't even try to deny it.

Roger, on the other hand, is much more enjoyable to write, because he's actually a little more complex than poor old Mark. Maybe when my Mark goes out with Maureen, in that future chapter, things will be more interesting. hint

Ok, I'm done babbling.


End file.
